<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Seven Years by daisuga</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915525">Seven Years</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisuga/pseuds/daisuga'>daisuga</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn, characters and pairs will tagged as they are added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:01:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisuga/pseuds/daisuga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi and Bokuto, and how they deal with feelings from the last seven years.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>196</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 7 + 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>★</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>More than all failures, all success,</em>
</p>
<p><em>I loved you</em>,</p>
<p><strong>- Boris Pasternak,</strong> from “<em>Waving a Bough,</em>” featured in “<em>A Treasury of Russian Verse,”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>★</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He visits sometimes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The low ceiling and fluorescent lights force him to make himself small, in a setting he is not entirely used to. It always takes a while. He feels out of place – spiky hair and training bag – but no one minds; here, everyone has their own responsibilities that they have to focus on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How very Akaashi of this place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He dodges the stray pieces of paper and tries very, <em>very </em>hard not to bump into the mountains of novels and paperwork piled up at every corner of the many cubicles. It’s quiet, given that it’s 5 PM, but there’s a handful of other people bustling out and about, walking around the office and having casual conversations.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He finds Akaashi at the back, quietly sorting through the papers on his desk. Boxes overfilled with manga and scripts are on the floor next to him, but as with everything, Akaashi’s desk is probably the cleanest, most organized desk out of everyone’s he had seen on this floor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A little spark of pride lights up deep within him, even more so when he sees the pictures taped on Akaashi’s personal board.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Keiji,” he finally greets, a grin spreading through his face. “You ready?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dark eyes flutter up to look at him, and Bokuto can never get over <em>this</em>: feeling the same when Akaashi looks at him, <em>seven years</em>, his soul turning eighteen and lovesick all over again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>★</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Tokyo nights are getting colder and colder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Akaashi loves Onigiri Miya, so Onigiri Miya they go. Osamu made good on that promise for a Tokyo branch, and it immediately became a hit. Akaashi, in particular, loves it so much that Bokuto lost count of how many dinners they already had in the place. A routine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead of a kiosk, Onigiri Miya expanded into a small, humble cafe – enough for at least four couples or one big group. The interiors are homey: warm, yellow lights splayed across the black walls with pictures of the MSBY Black Jackals, Schweiden Adler and other volleyball players, retired or not, framed and laid out on the wall. In at least one of them, you’d find Akaashi’s shy smile, and Bokuto’s wide grin next to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seven years didn’t change Bokuto that much. He’s still very much the accidental genius and frequent idiot, loud and often the life of the party. No – if time changed anything about him, it’s more of how he acts alone. Or with Akaashi.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The years mellowed him out. He’s still fun and he still drags Akaashi around, but with the deepened bond comes him appreciating the sides of Akaashi that he continually recognizes and witnesses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like <em>now</em>. While waiting for ramen and onigiri, Akaashi tends to read a little to wind down from work - his short alone time, floating in a space he created for himself, before he’s ready to go back down to Earth and spend his time interacting with Bokuto.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Soft curls tickle Bokuto’s cheeks as Akaashi leans on his shoulder, glasses on, focusing on the book in front of him. Slender fingers and palms with spots of old calluses born from his volleyball days, hold up the book high enough for Bokuto to see.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Read me this passage,” Bokuto says, a smile laying on his lips. He knows Akaashi loves it – reading to Bokuto, and spending time bonding over a piece of literature that he loves. The simplest quiets. “I really liked that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This one?” Akaashi points out the passage that Bokuto is eyeing, and Bokuto gives an affirmative hum.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He clears his throat before softly reciting the paragraph for Bokuto, voice low but clear. The cafe is almost empty, and there’s nothing but the slightest hint of a tune playing from the speakers, and yet Akaashi’s voice envelops Bokuto in the way it always does.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The most considerate, intimate and passionate way of repaying her was none other than washing her socks, her second layer of skin. There was no more time, there were no more chances. There would not be another opportunity again. The life of a firework belonged to the night. To suddenly burst into shocking colors in the darkest, coldest, deepest night. And then, there was nothingness. It turned out that the most glorious moment had passed! From now on, no matter how bitter the memories were, they would bring with them a tinge of sweetness.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“That’s really good,” Bokuto hums. “What’s it about?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s about a separation of a woman, who used to be a comfort woman, from her husband,” Akaashi explains, “as the war was ending.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Akaashi wedges in the bookmark. It’s a cute, cartoon owl that you put on the top of the page, making it look like it’s perched on the book. Bokuto can’t help but grin. He gave that to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Akaashi puts away <em>Fireworks in March</em> and looks up at Bokuto. “Don’t you ever think about separations, Bokuto-san?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When are you ever gonna call me Kotaro?” he playfully whines, melting against the editor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In truth, he doesn’t really care that much, because -</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“‘Bokuto-san’ just comes out of my mouth easier,” Akaashi teases, and Bokuto just.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He just falls in love all over again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>★</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They walk really slow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>February weather is really cold, and they walk with just a sliver of space between them, Bokuto with his gloved hands around a warm drink and Akaashi already drinking his.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't like it," Bokuto starts, remembering their conversation about the novel. He's better at remembering contexts now, he thinks. "Separation, I mean. It makes me really sad. I want to always be with the people that I've always been with - people who are family now."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He grins towards Akaashi – the familiar grin he always gives him. Akaashi breathes out a small puff of air at the sight, starstruck, like every other time that Bokuto grins at him. Every single time, he gives a small smile back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bokuto is also better at noticing that now. With that one, he's sure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I also don't like separations," Akaashi coyly smiles, and Bokuto leans in. Just a little bit. "Especially from people like you, Bokuto-san."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"People like me?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The surprise in his voice is apparent. Snow gently dusts both of them, yet Bokuto feels his face just getting warmer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Akaashi laughs - a rare laugh, and a laugh that Bokuto can describe as a laugh Akaashi only does with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You're a star after all."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>★</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He walks Akaashi home with idle conversations as they kick through the snow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, Akaashi lets him make a snow angel before complaining about the cold, but the little smile Bokuto spies easier throughout the years is present the whole time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They're older now: softer, kinder. At this stage of life, the person you are most likely to be cruelest to is yourself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stand in front of his door: the 28th on the street.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"This is me," Akaashi breathes out, as if they haven't done this a million times. The address changed over the years, but the routine stays the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"This is you." Bokuto repeats, and for a moment, time stops.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stare at each other, each in their own coats. Akaashi's hands fidgets, and his eyes lower – looking at the side, then back again. They both wonder if their heartbeats are fast and loud enough for the other to hear. They wonder if the other wonders it too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Akaashi is the first to give, with a smile apologizing for something neither of them can understand. "See you, Bokuto-san. Let's meet again soon?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bokuto silently exhales air he didn't know he was holding in. "Yeah, I'll message you!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They awkwardly shift around, Bokuto looking away lest he does something <em>unthinkable</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He almost gives himself whiplash when he quickly looks back at Akaashi when the latter reaches out to hold one of his hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Akaashi's dark eyes look up at him, focused, with maybe a million different emotions just teetering over the edge. He looks like he wants to say something. Bokuto does, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he just says -</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I really enjoyed today, Bokuto-san," Akaashi lets go of his hand. "Goodnight."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Goodnight."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bokuto watches him enter his apartment, and stands there for longer than he likes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looks up, breathes out, then walks home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>★</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A day passes by that joins the long years of feeling regret.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His heart lives to see another day, but he still doesn't know how he stops himself from blurting out <em>I love you</em> every time he's with Akaashi.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he stares up at the ceiling of his room, he wonders if this is really enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi i'm back!! special thanks to my bf, Knocksworth, for proofreading my out-of-retirement fic and suggesting to (re)watch HQ in the first place, causing me to be attached to the characters all over again</p>
<p>some background: i lost my tumblr account so now i'm at twitter; follow my personal (@oresthia) or the account i specifically made just now (@readblocking on tumblr and twt) and interact w/ me pls </p>
<p>hopefully i'll be sticking around, and i'll also upload notes and reference lists for my fanfics (ex. books that akaashi reads, trivias, etc). hmu in the comments if you're interested in something like that :)</p>
<p>hope y'all like the first chapter! please do give your continued patronage &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 7 + 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>read end notes for, you know...notes</p><p>much thanks to Knocksworth, as always, for proofreading<br/>i miss you always, i love you for ever</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>★</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I poured every sun upon you and every night and every silence and every longing,”</em>
</p><p> </p><p><strong>- </strong><strong>Friedrich Nietzsche</strong>, from <em>Thus Spoke Zarathustra </em>in <em>The Complete Works </em>(<em>Macmillan, 1909-1913</em>)</p><p>
  
</p><p>★</p><p> </p><p><em>He</em> visits sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>Osaka is a doable trek. The <em>Nozomi</em> train line carries him for two hours every time, and it never fails to make Akaashi smile even just a little bit at the coincidence that the train he takes to visit Bokuto is named as such.</p><p> </p><p>He takes great care in putting his beaten-up copy of <em>Norwegian Wood</em>, a copy nearly ten years-old. The doors swish open, and he steps out, inhaling the cold air. Tokyo and Osaka are both in Japan, but it always feels like he’s in a different plane of existence whenever he arrives in the latter.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it’s the romantic in him. Maybe it’s the never-ending excitement deep in his nerves – the grin he always fears he cannot keep from suddenly bursting out.</p><p> </p><p>The remaining travel from Shin-Osaka Station to Hirakata is short; the rest, as always, is a blur. Before he knows it, he’s already pushing past the doors of the indoor court MSBY Jackals practices in.</p><p> </p><p>“Keiji!”</p><p> </p><p>He fails to stop the grin spreading through his face, and neither does he hold himself back from giving a tight hug back.</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto, in all his sweat and clumsiness, always feels like home to him.</p><p> </p><p>★</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi Sakusa always takes interest in his books.</p><p> </p><p>Whenever he visits, Akaashi continues reading as their practice goes on, not distracted at all by the environment. During his break, Kiyoomi engages him in curt conversations, always ending after he’s done drinking his water.</p><p> </p><p>“Murakami today?” He nods at Akaashi, wiping his face with a towel before popping his water open. Akaashi looks up. “That’s an ancient book.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a personal favorite,” Akaashi responds in kind, flustered. People tend to get the wrong idea when he says that a Murakami book is one of his favorites to read; he always enjoyed them for analysis and imagery, not for the most questionable things, like the sex. “It’s been with me since forever.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can understand that.” Kiyoomi looks back at the court and lets out a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s funny?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re going to join the practice soon,” He looks at Akaashi, a playful smile on his lips as he gestures to the court with a nod. “You brought any spare clothes?”</p><p> </p><p>Looking over, Akaashi sees a pouting Bokuto, looking at them, before realizing that he’s been caught and promptly turning around to loudly talk with Hinata. Atsumu sighs, and when Akaashi lock eyes with him, he realizes that Kiyoomi is right.</p><p> </p><p>He closes his book softly, chuckling. “I always do.”</p><p> </p><p>★</p><p> </p><p>“As always, it feels the best when the toss comes from you, Keiji!”</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto guffaws, fist pumping after spiking in the last point. Akaashi puffs a tired breath, but he is absolutely sure that the warmth on his face isn’t only because of the match.</p><p> </p><p>“Hear that? That means you should set to me more, Atsumu-san.” Hinata teases, not bothered by the loss at all.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I meant!”</p><p> </p><p>“No take-backs, Koutarou,” Atsumu chimes, panting in kind, yet feeling the light atmosphere seep into his own psyche.</p><p> </p><p>He looks at Akaashi’s fond smile as Bokuto banters with Hinata – and eventually Kiyoomi – thinking that Akaashi did change a lot for the past seven years.</p><p> </p><p>The stone-faced setter is no longer the dry wall that masks his emotions. Everyone knows that Akaashi holds a deep emotion for Bokuto, both a deep longing and a bittersweet possession. Every moment feels like it’s about to burst, the culmination of emotions everyone but them notices seemingly threatening to pop suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>They clean up, and Shugo lets Bokuto off the hook earlier. As soon as they peeled Hinata off Akaashi and waved goodbye to the pair, a collective sigh was let out from the team.</p><p> </p><p>“When is this going to be over?” Kiyoomi asks loudly, stretching from side to side.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to say soon, but I’ve always been saying that, so it’s really not reliable anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>Hinata makes a weird, embarrassed face. “I thought they were already together.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu laughs as he pulls the net.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t we all always think that?”</p><p> </p><p>★</p><p> </p><p>He knows that Bokuto knows the book as well as he does at this point.</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto is thumbing through it when he comes back from the washroom, plopping down on his seat as he reaches for his warm coffee. Inside their favorite restaurant, a portion of the cold from the snow outside permeates, with small puffs coming out with every breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Found your favorite part yet, Bokuto-san?” He asks before sipping from his cup, the sweet latte spreading through his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto gives him a bashful smile, cheeks flushed from the cold, and Akaashi realizes it’s time.</p><p> </p><p>It’s time to be mesmerized, once again, with how Bokuto is absolutely <em>glowing</em>. The orange lights from the streets serve as a good background to the image he keeps in his mind, and heart, perpetually. The small curves at the ends of his lips, and the shine his eyes have –</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi decides, like the past thousands of times that he went through the same slow motion, that he is <em>absolutely</em> in love with Bokuto Koutarou.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No, we weren't lovers, but in a way, we had opened ourselves to each other even more deeply than lovers do. The thought caused me a good deal of grief. What a terrible thing it is to wound someone you really care for - and to do it so unconsciously.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Bokuto recites the excerpt with ease, having read the book alongside Akaashi countless of times – and in kind, Akaashi remembers the first time Bokuto saw that excerpt:</p><p> </p><p>The small letters on the paperback, clumsily highlighted in orange, the <em>Stabilo </em>held in Bokuto’s shaking hands when he was 20, on Akaashi’s floor, and the sinking feeling Akaashi had back then when he realized he’ll be in Tokyo and Bokuto will be in Osaka.</p><p> </p><p>That was almost five years ago.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Akaashi gulps, suddenly out of breath. “It’s always been that.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It’s always been you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s always been you,” Bokuto suddenly says, and for a moment, they both stare at each other, pupils dilated and heartbeats running faster. Akaashi’s shaking hands carefully guided the cup on the table, afraid that breaking eye contact will break time.</p><p> </p><p>“Bokuto-san- “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s always been you <em>who remembers</em>,” Bokuto clears his throat, letting out a strangled cry of a laugh, and he sets the book on the table like it’s on fire. He straightens up, some sort of panic laced in his body language, Akaashi knows him more than anyone else. “You know?”</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi is afraid that tears will fall into the same depths his stomach did, a pitfall spreading through him as he both dissociates and tries to grasp at whatever semblance of composure that he can.</p><p> </p><p>“I know.”</p><p> </p><p>His eyebrows furrow, not because of anger or frustration, but just as a futile attempt to bar his eyes from bawling. They both look down at their laps, an uneasy silence hanging over them. His fingertips are red, hand crushing the others, his nerves tingling from the barrage of emotions.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes slide to the left, and sees Bokuto’s hands similarly wriggling.</p><p> </p><p>★</p><p> </p><p>He lets Bokuto pay for the bill, if only to say that he’ll wait outside.</p><p> </p><p>He stands up and rushes out, wiping his eyes from the momentary collapse of his resolve to not cry, but if there’s one thing he learned as an adult, it is that he knows how to not cry in public.</p><p> </p><p>He swallows the cry wanting to get out of his throat, and quickly straightens up like nothing happened. He inhales – the cold piercing his lungs, but it’s a welcome jolt that he needed to reset.</p><p> </p><p>There’s time to cry later, on the last train on the way home.</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto comes out of the restaurant, looking a little disheveled himself. Eyes puffed, but he rubs them and pretends Akaashi doesn’t notice everything.</p><p> </p><p>He sees Akaashi standing by the door, and gives a smile that feels a bit like relief.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you were going to smoke,” His voice cracks halfway through, but like what he does with everything, he just laughs it off.</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi softens, like what <em>he</em> does with all things Bokuto. “Of course not. I promised you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto’s face goes red, and Akaashi belatedly realizes the weight of the truth, and the dangers of saying it.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not ready. Both of them aren’t.</p><p> </p><p>As they walk through the soft streets of Osaka, Akaashi thinks about the consequences of his feelings. Since he was 17, he’s felt like Bokuto caught a piece of his soul and never gave it back. The emotions he feels for the Ace is not something he can easily throw away. Bleakly, he thinks about his future of just permanently vaulting everything he feels, though the regret for the fleeting moments they waste creeps back to him again and again.</p><p> </p><p>He suddenly feels Bokuto holding his hand, and Akaashi looks up in surprise, a gasp stifled by how serious Bokuto looks.</p><p> </p><p>“You seem troubled,” Eyebrows scrunched up, the grip tightens. “What are you thinking of?”</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi revels at the warmth; his fragile, <em>fragile</em> heart always tender for the man who is holding his hand right now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dammit, Koutarou.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’m just thinking of how everything is fleeting and regretful,” He honestly says, because lying to Bokuto never works. “How easy it is to waste time, and how easy it is to lose things that might hold weight.”</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto looks at him, blinking before humming, looking up at the dark Osaka skies, slowly swinging their intwined hands. Obviously in deep thought, Akaashi lets him take his time and looks up as well, unease slowly slipping away, the present wrapping around him like a comfort blanket.</p><p> </p><p>Here he is, on a cold January night, walking along Osaka with Bokuto holding his hands.</p><p> </p><p>It’s all he needs, he convinces himself.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>’Not everything is fleeting. Some feelings are deep</em>’,” Bokuto finally says, laughing softly at Akaashi’s surprised face. “Is that how it goes, Keiji?”</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi stares at Bokuto’s face, taking in everything, before sighing and smiling in turn.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right. How can I forget?”</p><p> </p><p>As Bokuto lets out a celebratory whoop in the name of being blessed by Akaashi’s approval, pulling him along to run excitedly along the snowed-in road, laughter making Akaashi bellow out his own, Akaashi just.</p><p> </p><p>He just falls in love all over again.</p><p> </p><p>★</p><p> </p><p>“This is me.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is you,” Bokuto puffs, hands on knees as he catches his breath. He looks up and sees Akaashi doing the same, and they both share a silent giggle over the silliness of it all.</p><p> </p><p>It wears off as they realize that they have to part again, the last train to Tokyo slowly docking for the passengers. A sudden sense of urgency falls unto them once again, hands itching to link together and not let go, but both forcing it to stay.</p><p> </p><p>“I have to go,” Akaashi breathes out, adjusting is bag lest he does something unthinkable. “It was fun, Bokuto-san.”</p><p> </p><p>“…Yeah.” Bokuto stands, nerves on overdrive. “Take care, Keiji.”</p><p> </p><p>The doors to the train open, and they stand a meter apart, in silence. Akaashi offers him a soft smile, before waving at him and turning around, crossing over the platform.</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto remains in his spot, seemingly paralyzed by millions of things running through his mind, and a million more yelling at him to do something. <em>Anything</em>. He doesn’t want it to end like always. He wants to give Akaashi the truth. He <em>needs</em> to.</p><p> </p><p><em>Not everything is fleeting. Some feelings are deep</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Keiji!” Bokuto bolts, yelling as the platform doors close. Akaashi, surprised, puts his hand on the glass, wide eyes focused on Bokuto. “I- “</p><p> </p><p>He runs alongside the train, following it, hand over Akaashi’s.</p><p> </p><p>His eager eyes focused on Akaashi, and Akaashi strains to hear what he is saying, but the commotion inside the train itself stops him from understanding what Bokuto is saying. He desperately leans over the glass, squinting as if that will help him tune out the argument for seats behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto, face red and lips moving in a flurry of words that Akaashi cannot make sense of, stares at him and him alone.</p><p> </p><p>“…!”</p><p> </p><p>The trains zips past the end of the platform, and Akaashi looks back to see Bokuto waving at him.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t able to hear anything that Bokuto said. He stares at the point where their hands lined up along the glass, his heart beating, a little bit more hopeful.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t able to hear any of it, but he has some hope that it was what he thinks it was.</p><p> </p><p>★</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I love you, Keiji.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Bokuto knows that Akaashi didn’t hear him. But there, on the Shin-Osaka Station, after yelling his feelings out for the world to know, he feels some sort of power coursing through him. A shot of dopamine straight to his system, <em>he</em> <em>loves Akaashi Keiji.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>He loves him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi demons its me ya girl </p><p>&gt; nozomi = のぞみ, "Wish" or "Hope"<br/>&gt; MSBY Jackals seems to be based on Panasonic Panthers, therefore I assumed the Jackals also stay in Hirakata City, Osaka<br/>&gt; the book of the chapter is Norwegian Wood (ノルウェイの森), a 1987 novel by Haruki Murakami. i own a lot of books by him so expect to see more of him in the future...<br/>&gt; "Not everything is fleeting. Some feelings are deep." = bokuto is referencing Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019, dir. Celina Sciamma). I recommend all of you to watch, and also - hmu if you want an AU based on it - </p><p>to everyone who commented, thank you very much; your words motivate me to write more. i hope you all keep safe, wash your hands, and belated bokuaka day! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>